


A change for the better

by Starryeyedrichie



Category: The New Statesman (TV 1987)
Genre: Angst, Coming Out, Established Relationship, Other, Period Typical Bigotry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-31 19:31:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21151025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starryeyedrichie/pseuds/Starryeyedrichie
Summary: You and Alan have been in a relationship for a while now, but one night, you make a shocking revelation. Cool bug fact: I was inspired to write this fic when I had an emotional breakdown after binge-watching a ton of The New Statesman episodes.





	A change for the better

“How much longer can I live like this?” I stared at myself in the mirror, hoping I hadn’t said that out loud. Over the last several weeks, I had become more dysphoric than ever. I couldn’t ignore it any longer, I was horrifyingly aware of everything. The way my breasts bounced when I walked. The curve of my waist and what many people would call “birthing hips”. The distinct lack of anything between my legs.

“There’s my princess!”

I practically jumped out of my skin. God, I hated how good Alan was at sneaking about. It took me a second to process what he’d said to me. My eyes pricked with tears. No. Alan had never seen me cry before, even when he had caused it, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to now. I turned and bolted into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me. I had to shove my face into a towel to muffle the sound of my sobbing.

I stayed in there after I’d heard him leave for the day. My mind was racing. That’s when I decided. He had to know. I wasn’t gonna be his princess anymore.

Once I’d talked myself into coming downstairs, I dialled the number to his desk phone and went over what I was going to say in my head. I wasn’t going to tell him right now; I would just let him know we needed to talk later. My fingers found themselves intertwined with the telephone wire as it rang. Finally, it was answered. But not by Alan. I winced at Piers Fletcher-Dervish’s nasally squeaking being drilled into my skull.

“Um… is Alan there?” I managed to say after a few seconds of awkward silence.

“I’m afraid not, he’s off taking care of some important business” piers explained, laughing nervously.

“Oh…” I sighed, remembering that with Alan, “important business” was usually a codeword for committing some form of crime and framing a rival MP.

“But I could pass on a message for him.” he quickly added.

“That’d be great. Tell him I’m sorry about what happened earlier, he’ll know what that means, and that we need to have a serious talk when he gets home.”

“Alright, sounds reasonable.”

“Thank you, Piers.” I hung up the phone. There was no going back now.

That’s when it occurred to me. Maybe Alan would take me more seriously if I looked the part. I wandered up to our bedroom and with trembling hands, opened his wardrobe. Countless perfectly crisp and clean suit jackets paired with matching trousers met my eyes. I gingerly picked out a set, along with one of his shirts. Once I’d put them on, I noted that his clothes felt much better on me than mine. I inspected my hair in the mirror. It had recently been cut just above my shoulders, which would do for now, but I’d have to get more taken off in the future.

The hours that followed felt like the longest of my life. There was no telling how long I’d been sat staring at the wall when the familiar sound of a Bentley pulling up outside snapped me out of my trance. Standing up from the sofa, I braced myself for all hell to break loose as the front door unlocked.

“What did you do now and how much is it going to cost me to keep the press off of your rear?”

Great. Not even back for 2 minutes and I was already in trouble.

“Well actually, I didn’t do anything, but there’s-” I began.

“Darling, what are you wearing? Is that one of mine?” Alan interrupted. Fuck. He’d definitely noticed.  
“You see… the thing is…” it hadn’t occurred to me that I’d have to explain to possibly the most heterosexual man in parliament that he was technically courting a man.

“Go on…” he looked intrigued, his hands were folded, and his head was cocked to the side.

“I feel like… um… like I’ve got the wrong body.” I finally managed after much hesitation.

He now looked confused. “It doesn’t look wrong to me. Gets the job done, doesn’t it?”

I knew exactly what “the job” meant, and I had never wanted to backhand him across his stupid face as much as I did right then. I opted to remain calm instead.

“No, that’s not what I meant. I mean that it… um… it shouldn’t be a woman’s body.” This was proving to be quite a difficult task indeed. I could see the gears turning in his head. He hadn’t responded, so I pressed on.

“I was… supposed to be a man, Alan.” This was it. I’d said it. Now there really was no taking it back.

No response from him. Was that good or bad? There was no telling with him until he’d decided your fate. A sly little smile crept across his face.

“Very funny, Princess. You tricked me. Now, what’s really going on here?”

“Alan, I’m being serious.”

His face fell. I knew I’d made a huge mistake. He towered over me as he uttered the immortal words that would surely seal my doom.

“Oh dear.”

My mouth went dry. He never spared any details and even seemed excited whenever he told me of the cruel and unusual physical punishments Piers had to endure when he’d done something wrong in Alan’s eyes. There was no way of knowing which course of action he would deem suitable for what was undoubtedly the biggest mistake I as his partner could make.

“Darling, please don’t do this…” I begged as if that wasn’t going to further fuel his remorseless intentions.  
Before I knew it, his rough, strong hands were wrapped around my throat, with his grip quickly tightening. Every second, my vision got blurrier as both my air and the blood flow to my head were being cut off. No longer able to say anything, I began to claw at his exposed wrist, hoping the pain would shock him into releasing me.  
“Scratch me all you want, little girl. But I think you know what happens to women who don’t know their place.” His voice was now a throaty growl which sent a chill up and down my spine.  
Alan kept on squeezing my throat tightly, like a boa constrictor closing in on a helpless mouse. I was starting to accept that this was how I would die when I found myself crumpled in a heap on the floor. He’d seemingly let go and my legs had given out from under me. My vision hadn’t come back yet, all I heard was the front door opening and then closing.

He was gone. Now I was fucked. He’d tell the papers. He’d get me arrested. He’d drag me out into the streets and have me abused and humiliated by the population of London. A million awful possibilities raced through my mind. Feeling too weak to stand back up, I curled into a ball and started to cry. Eventually, the sheets of rain beating down on the windows and the comforting warmth of Alan’s jacket sent me off to sleep.

When I awoke the next morning, I quickly noticed I wasn’t in the same place I’d fallen asleep. I had been moved onto the sofa and tucked under a blanket. When I sat up, I noticed Alan sitting next to me. He looked like he hadn’t slept much, if at all. His soft curls looked dishevelled from where he’d obviously been running his hands through them. I gently placed my hand on top of his, which got his attention.

“I… nearly killed you…” he finally managed. 

I brought my other hand up to my neck, carefully touching the tender flesh and wincing at the pain emanating from the bruises which had most likely formed in the shape of his fingers. Not knowing what to say, I stayed silent and let him continue.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Why did I do that?” his voice was quieter than usual, and he was avoiding eye contact.

I reached towards him, turning his face to look at me.

“Well, I’m sure Piers has had his life hanging in the balance because of you before. You had no problems doing that.” I wasn’t entirely sure how that was supposed to help, but it was certainly true.

“Yes, but that’s different!” he retorted. “I hate Piers with every fibre of my being, he deserves it! You don’t deserve it because…” he trailed off.

“Because?” I enquired.

Alan was silent. I could feel his hand shaking under mine. He carefully picked me up by my waist and sat me in his lap.

“What’s wrong, darling?” I tried again. His eyes were wet and shiny, threatening to overflow.

At last, he gave in to his emotions. He wrapped his arms around me and pressed his warm, flushed face into my neck.

“I… don’t understand what’s going on…” he whimpered, releasing his pent up, bitter tears onto me. I had seen him put in on for the cameras before. These were not crocodile tears, his desolation and terror were frighteningly real. I could tell he’d been drinking while I was asleep, as he smelled strongly of whiskey. I gently rubbed his back, letting him sob and trying to keep myself composed.

“I know it’s a shock for you, but this will be a good thing. It’s just like what happened with your old business consultant. Norman, was it?” I tried to explain.  
That got his attention again. I continued.

“it’s just like that, but… I suppose the other way around.”

Alan looked as if he was beginning to understand, but there was clearly still some confusion there. Suddenly a lightbulb flickered to life in my head.

“Think about it like this. Say someone doesn’t… agree with the Labour party’s policies anymore. Well, they can switch to supporting and voting for the Conservative party. That can only be a good thing, right darling?” I decided to give him a minute to process my explanation.

He stared at nothing in particular for a while, his face deep in thought. At last, he looked back up at me. I could only hope I’d gotten through to him.

“I think you’re absolutely right. I’m so sorry about what happened last night. I overreacted. Can you ever forgive me?” Alan looked tragically beautiful in his current state, with his normally pristine curls all ruffled, his skin glowing the prettiest shade of red I had ever seen, and the tracks of drying tears still visible on his cheeks. I smiled.

“Of course I can.” No sooner had I replied, his face lit up and I felt myself being pulled against him and tightly embraced.

“Thank you, my love. This will take a lot of getting used to and I have a lot to learn, but if being a man would make you happier, then who am I to deny you that? Tell you what, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll cancel everything I have scheduled today, and I’ll take you to get your own suit fitted. You do look very nice in mine, but you’ll look stunning in one that fits you properly. How does that sound?” my heart stopped. I didn’t know what to say. Had he seriously just made such an offer?  
“You’d do that for me?” I questioned, making sure it wasn’t some kind of misunderstanding or ruse.

“I would, my dear.” He leaned in and kissed my lips, softly and tenderly. “After all…” His voice went soft and he smiled with pride as I rested my forehead on his. “It’s the least I could do for... my prince.”

I happily nestled into his chest, feeling it rising and falling with his breathing. The fact I had convinced him to see things from my perspective was nothing short of a miracle. Of course, there was the problem of what the dodgy people he surrounded himself with were going to think. And the problem of how the media were going to take it when we were inevitably seen together. But for now, none of that mattered. We’d cross those bridges when we got to them. We’d cross them together.


End file.
